Masquerade
by RicardianScholar Clark-Weasley
Summary: It was a night of mystery and inappropriate behaviour. A night where he was someone else and she was someone achingly familar. A night where he can pretend that she loves him...as always its the the morning after that brings reality back. Warning: out of character behaviour.


_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade  
Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you  
Masquerade! Every face a different shade  
Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you._

_Flash of mauve_  
_Splash of puce_  
_Fool and king_  
_Ghoul and goose_  
_Green and black_  
_Queen and priest_  
_Trace of rouge_  
_Face of beast_  
_Faces!_  
_Take your turn; take a ride_  
_on the merry-go-round_  
_in an inhuman race_  
_Eye of gold_  
_Thigh of blue_  
_True is false_  
_who is who?_  
_Curl of lip_  
_Swirl of gown_  
_Ace of hearts_  
_Face of clown_  
_Faces! Drink it in, drink it up_  
_Till you've drowned_  
_in the light_  
_in the sound_  
_but who can name the face?_

_Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds_  
_Masquerade! Take your fill; let the spectacle astound you_  
_Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads_  
_Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you_  
_Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies_  
_Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you_  
_Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes_  
_Masquerade! Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you._

_**Masquerade sang by Phantom of the Opera Cast**_

Mr Knightly stepped into the room unannounced. It was crowded to the brim with fascinating bright colours and gloriously detailed masks as people bustled past and tried to search out a friend behind a colourful and fanciful mask. It was all so marvellous and disconcerting at the same time.

Here he stood wearing a plain black mask round his eyes looking like death in comparison of all these shocking colours. Why, in all that is good, did he allow Isabella and John persuade to him to join them in this particular event? Surely he would be far more suited in keeping the children company rather than a room full of strangers? And, why, did he not arrive with them? If he was to squint at strangers in order to identify them then surely he would have been safer from embarrassment if he knew what his brother and sister in law looked like.

He embarrassed himself and a young, pale brown-haired woman when he leaned forward and squinted at her. The poor lady flushed brightly beneath her peach mask she was holding up to his face and hurriedly left in the other direction.

Damnit!

Why had he chosen to spend the evening with some old school friends before hand? It would have been so much simpler if he had remained home and seen what John and Isabella were going to wear.

The dancing picked up a more chaotic beat to it and with the large amount of young people dancing (many of the young ladies were in old large skirted dresses that had long gone out of fashion) found difficulty to accommodate themselves round one another jostling one another. A young woman was pushed so suddenly by another's ridiculously huge skirt (it was like a bright magenta puff pastry) that she would have fallen face first on the floor if he had not moved in time to catch her.

"Oh!" she gasped as he steadied her.

"Are you..." he trailed off when she looked up at him.

Her eyes were startling beautiful and so strangely familiar but he could not place where he had seen eyes like these before. Her face was obscured by a large feathery mask made of sea green and watery blue coloured feathers, he released her and took a step back to admire her at a distance, she wore an interesting green-blue dress that seemed genuinely from the last century rather than a costume tailored for her.

"I am fine, thank you," she smiled pleasantly.

"You are welcome," he said, "I am Mr-"

"Don Juan?" she interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well," she said with a much more mischievous smile – it was so achingly familiar but it could not be that smile - , "I imagine that is who you are. Your costume I am afraid is not entirely fanciful enough to be some sort of God or animal or even a fascinating character of some sort." She laughed a little at his incredulity and he had to shake himself, to remind himself, that this unknown lady was not someone he knew intimately well...despite the similarities. "This is a masquerade, Sir," she said, "you are not supposed to introduce yourself with your real name. You are supposed to be a mysterious young man wearing a mask and prepared to sweep unsuspecting ladies off their feet."

"I see," he smiled, "then I suppose I am Don Juan, and may I inquire to who you are?"

"I am Melusina," she said imperiously, "a water goddess and the foundling mother of royalty, can you not tell?"

He could not help but laugh at that and before he knew it she used her Goddess status to force him into dancing. They danced more than three times! Any other occasion and it would have been a scandal; he could not have been seen in Highbury dancing with the same woman four times in the same night without an engagement being whispered about. Yet here at the Masquerade everything was different...there was no rules.

After several lively dances that took a great deal out of him they moved to the refreshment table and managed to get hold of some wine before the crowd overwhelmed them and they had to move once more. The room was stifling hot and it was difficult to hold a conversation without shouting oneself hoarse without a single thought of propriety Mr Knightly led the beautiful Melusina out into the garden for a stroll.

At first they discussed many neutral topics ranging from the latest gossip of the Prince Regent's activities to the weather avoiding any such talk of their own personal lives since it went against the rules of being mysterious strangers.

Melusina was a lively conversationalist, witty, mischievous, and rather cheeky in her comments. She was so much like – no he must put her out of his thoughts and heart entirely or else there will be nothing but suffering for the rest of his life. His thoughts must have shown on his face because Melusina paused in her running commentary on the various stars they could see on this clear and very warm night and peered at him with a concerned expression.

"Is something the matter, Sir?" she inquired.

"I..." he found he could not lie to her. He had not even discussed this with his own brother or one of his good friends and yet there was something about this stranger that encouraged him to speak of his heart. "You remind me of a friend of mine, a very good friend who..."

"Was she very dear to you?" she asked softly.

"The dearest and most beloved of my friends," he confessed, "she has my heart in her keeping though she is oblivious to it."

"You love her so?"

"More than I can say."

It was all so quick and sudden that he had been left dumbstruck and incapable of forming a coherent thought let alone speaking aloud.

One moment she had been listening intently to him, as she stood a distance that was not entirely appropriate for an old confirmed bachelor and a young unmarried maid to be, and then the next she stepped in front of him and had pressed her lips softly against his. It was brief, gentle, and left him wanting more than he should.

"I apologise," she said uncomfortably, "I merely wanted...well to comfort you, I suppose, you were so desolate that your dear friend did not return your feelings and I wanted nothing more than to make you smile."

"I do not...I do not think..." he cursed inwardly, frustrated at his lack of coherent sentences in front of this very beautiful and kind young lady. "Thank you," he finally said.

She smiled that achingly familiar smile that he knew so well and yet did not. "This is a masquerade, Sir, you can be anyone you wish to be or what someone else wishes you to be" she said with the smallest hint of flirtation, "I was more than willing to indulge a handsome stranger his fantasy of his dearest friend." She took several steps back and held her hand out to him. "Indulge in your fantasy, Sir," she said, "for it would certainly indulge my own."

It was all so thoughtless, reckless, and improper, he should turn back now, and continue to search for Isabella and John or failing that, just go back to their home and go to bed before he stained this woman's reputation any further.

But he did not want to.

He wanted to pretend that she was her. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her senseless and enjoy it before reality took hold of his life once more. This was a night for dreams, a night of mystery, a night of passion without consequences. So without another thought, he took her hand (an achingly familiar feel to the small, delicate, and soft hand that he squeezed it tightly), and allowed her to led him round the corner. Before he knew what was happening they were kissing once more, her soft lips against his, and it was all so wonderful.

He pulled her tightly against him, the feathers of her mask tickled his face, and her arms wrapped themselves round his neck as she leaned up against him.

The kiss deepened and he walked her backwards up against a large bush and pressed himself against her. He could almost feel her through his many layers of clothing and her many skirts. There was far too much clothing but he did not dare take this any further than kissing. He kissed her more desperately and she responded wonderfully, one hand tightening its hold on his shoulder, and the other grabbing a fistful of his hair as she pulled him close as she could.

He paused for breath and then kissed her cheek, her jaw, and moved down to kiss her neck when suddenly a soft flump sound distracted him...

She gasped, snatched something off his head, and pushed him away. He stared bewildered as she clutched her mask to her face desperately and then realised belatedly that the fastenings of her mask must have broken.

"I must go," she panted slightly.

And before he could say something she pushed past him and ran towards the ballroom. "Wait!" he cried out before running after her. "Wait! Please!"

She vanished amongst all the colour and brilliance of the other guests before he could even reach the doors. He could not see a single green-blue dress amongst the sapphire blues, emerald greens, dazzling reds, and gold clothe. He did not know what colour her hair was; he did not pay attention to such a detail when her eyes and mannerisms had been so familiar.

He had nothing.

Dejectedly he took a step inside when something crunched under foot and he looked down to find her mask beneath his shoe.

Well...he had something but it was not enough to find a nameless person.

Just his luck.

EWEWEWEWEWEW

Mr Knightly had woken up to find the house empty apart from the servants. After a washing, dressing, and breaking his fast, he sat himself in the drawing room as he examined the mask from the mysterious night before. He was unsure of what to do, surely it was his duty to find her and repair the damage he would have inflicted on her virtue...but then it had been a night, just one night where he could pretend, where she could pretend, and he did not want reality to mar the memory of a fascinating woman.

He did not want to have to marry her.

He sighed and hated himself for being so selfish. He should seek her out and marry her after ruining her to the extent he had, if that mask had not fallen, if he had lost that last ounce of self control...well he could have ruined her utterly.

The front door slammed loudly downstairs.

"John!" an impossible and very familiar voice scolded. "What have you been told about slamming doors?"

Mr Knightly shot up from the sofa and rushed out of the drawing room door to find his nephews and nieces surrounding the one person he had never thought to see in London. "Uncle George!" his namesake cried out gleefully. "Aunt Emma has come to visit!"

"I can see that," he smiled weakly.

The question was why was she in London? What had happened? Was she well? Was her father well? Did something utterly terrible happen and he had been completely and selfishly unaware of it?

"Children," Emma said suddenly, "how about you all go into the drawing room for a moment while I inform Uncle George the whereabouts of your parents."

"But we get to tell Uncle George about the park, right?" Isabella asked. "I want to tell him about the ducks."

"And you most certainly can!" Emma reassured their niece. "Just after I had a little talk with Uncle George, and then maybe, just maybe if you are all good, we can have tea and cake."

He had never seen the children move so quickly before in his life before he knew it he was alone in the hallway with Emma. There was an awkward moment of silence as she smiled weakly at him as she unbuttoned her coat.

"Emma," he murmured, "are you well? Your father? Did something happen?"

"Yes," she said, "we are both well...or at least I am. I am not convinced Father is well as he claims. Did you know just two days ago, Father had insisted that I must take a holiday to London?" his eyes widened that did not sound like Mr Woodhouse at all. In fact it sounded so unlike Mr Woodhouse he would have thought the real one had been replaced by an imposter. "It was so unlike him, so out of character of him, that I was on the verge of calling Mr Perry to examine him. I thought he was fevered or worse," she smiled warmly at that, "then Mrs Weston had supported him and reassured me that he only wanted the best for me and that I should heed his order like a good daughter I am. So I arrived yesterday morning, quite late you were already out according to Isabella," she added reassuringly, "I then was given a letter that Father had written for me but sent to Isabella."

"Oh?" he pried unsure what else to say.

"Father thought..." she hesitated for a moment, "he had thought I was attached to someone I most certainly was not. This someone had become engaged to another lady and he felt it was best for me if I was away while Highbury celebrated the engagement, he said if I was away at London from all the talk of marriage, perhaps I would not feel the need to marry myself."

"He sent you to the wrong place for that," Mr Knightly said laughingly.

"I believe he had hoped Isabella and John would keep me in the house away from all talks of marriage," Emma agreed.

They laughed together and for one wondrous moment it was like the old days before he became aware of his feelings, before he realised she would never once look his way, and, most importantly, before Frank Churchill.

The name instantly jolted him back to the conversation and he was just about ask exactly who Frank Churchill was engaged to – for that was surely the man Emma was speaking of unless there was another man he had been unaware of – when suddenly the drawing room door ripped open and the Knightly boys rushed out bickering.

"I found it Aunt Emma!" Henry cried out.

"No I did!" John shouted.

"Liars! Isabella saw it first!" George roared indignantly. "You just want all the sweets to yourself."

"What have you found?" Mr Knightly asked cutting through the bickering.

"Aunt Emma's mask," Henry said holding up the blue and green feathered mask.

The blue and green feathered mask that had been worn by the mysterious lady from the night before. The blue and green feathered mask that he must have left behind in his rush to see if Emma was truly in London and he had not gone mad. The blue and green feathered mask that must indeed belong to his friend who only just arrived in London yesterday morning.

He reached out to take it from his nephew but Emma had gotten there first and snatched it out of his hands and held it tightly to her chest. "Thank you boys," Emma said loudly, "I will buy you all sweets, Isabella as well, tomorrow morning."

"Could you please go back to the drawing room, boys?" he asked calmly, "I have to scold your Aunt Emma for something very naughty."

The boys giggled as Emma spluttered indignantly and reluctantly left after Mr Knightly gave them a stern look that promised a scolding for them as well if they didn't leave immediately. When the drawing room door finally closed he turned to face Emma who was doing everything she could to avoid looking at him.

"You knew it was me," he said quietly.

"Well," Emma said somewhat tartly, "you were hardly the master of disguise last night!"

A wave of inexplicable anger overwhelmed him. She knew it had been him. He should have known it was her, it had been her eyes, her laugh, her manner of speech, and her hand, and for some reason he did not know it was her. He had taken advantage of her. She had asked him to take advantage of her.

He had been played.

Toyed with.

"You played me," he whispered in horror.

Her eyes widened, "No!" she said vehemently, "no I would never-"

"I was some sort of experiment, was I?" he retorted angrily. "Some sort of game of mystery where you can make yourself feel better? To help you recover from your heartache caused by Frank Churchill? Well let me tell you something Emma, I am not some sort of toy that you can pick up again when the new one is broken."

"Why is it," Emma snarled, "that everyone is obsessed with the idea of me being in love with Frank Churchill? I had never given the slightest indication that I have considered him more than a friend."

"Well seeing how you have treated your friend last night I think I can see where the misconception had formed," Mr Knightly said bitterly.

Had not given the slightest indication? Ha! She had been all over Frank Churchill like a bad rash and he had been far too forward with her as well.

"I should slap you for that!" she hissed furiously. "To imply I would have given myself so freely to a man, why I never! Do you honestly think so little of me, Mr Knightly?"

There were tears in her eyes. Her face was red with fury and humiliation, the mask that she had clasped to her chest moments ago was now crushed in her hand that were clenched tightly into a fist. Beneath the fury there were tears sparkling in her eyes and one of them rolled down quickly down her cheek...he had hurt her. His cruel, callous words had hurt her...he had been no better than Frank Churchill.

"No," he said feeling his anger drain away quickly, "no I do not think so little of you. I think the world of you" he confessed without thought, "I was just...so angry...I...why did you kiss me, Emma?"

"I...that first kiss," Emma closed her eyes and the smallest, briefest of smiles appeared, "I...well I did not know what I had done until I had done it. It was a spontaneous reaction for your unintentional declaration. I thought I would never hear you say such things about my person...I thought if you were to be in love with someone it would be a person of great accomplishment like Jane Fairfax, or a lady with a sweet nature like Harriet Smith, I did not think...I just did not think, I merely acted."

"Emma," he breathed.

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked directly to his soul. "I love you," she confessed, "not Frank Churchill. Not whatever imagined suitor you and Highbury have created for me. Just you. Only you. I took advantage of you, yes," she tried to laugh at that but it came out more of a wretched sob, "for I thought it would be my only chance to be held by you. My only chance to feel such passion. I cannot marry...I cannot leave my father, and therefore I cannot give you what you deserve..."

He reached out without thought and caressed her cheek, she leant into it with a sigh, and another tear rolled down her cheek. "Emma, I would never expect you to abandon your father," he said reassuringly, "I am more than willing to leave Donwell if I were to marry you."

"You would?"

"I will," he said firmly.

And with that he kissed her. A soft, gentle caress of the lips that unintentionally deepened into a much more passionate kiss as Emma gasped and grabbed hold of him tightly as if she never wanted to let him go. He did not want to let go of her either, he wished desperately to remain in this moment forever, and then laughed at himself for being so foolish. It would not endear him to his own family if he spent all eternity kissing Emma in their hallway.

The front door opened and shut behind them, "Oh!" Isabella cried out.

They leaped apart but it was, of course, far too late. Isabella had seen it all and she stood there looking at them with wide eyed surprise unable to form a sentence.

"We..."

"I..."

"It was..."

"Well..."

"Ah..."

"Erm..."

"We are to marry!" he blurted out without much thought. "As soon as I can speak with your father and can reassure him I will not take Emma away from him."

"Really?" Emma said dryly, "I do not recall such a proposal being asked."

He shot Emma a stern look. He had been hoping to smooth things over with Isabella by reassuring her that they were not being entirely inappropriate and he would make Emma an honest woman. Emma's thoughtless (but truthful) words did not help the matter in hand although it did seem like Isabella was incapable of speaking let alone shout at the pair of them for unseemly behaviour.

"Will you?" he asked a little too shortly.

Emma raised an eyebrow at him, "when you have asked nicely," she said stepping away from him and towards her sister, "I will say yes," she then took Baby Emma out of Isabella's arms and left for the drawing room leaving him to do all the explaining.

It was needless to say that after Isabella got over the shock of it all she most certainly did insist of a marriage. John Knightly had not been able to look at either Mr Knightly or Emma before laughing in their faces he had found the entire story so amusing and the children remained oblivious to it all which was for the best really. Mr Knightly could not afford the children finding out what happened in the hallway or Isabella will certainly never forgive him.

The sixteen mile journey back to Highbury had been bliss when Emma and he finally had a moment alone. Their engagement did indeed cause a bit of a scandal in Highbury, Mrs Elton especially thought it was unseemly of Emma to attach herself to Mr Knightly so soon after Frank, but they could not bring themselves to care about it when they had the support of their dearest friends and Mr Woodhouse (though it did take some convincing first).

Many years later they will recount their story to their children with great delight...well a much more toned down version of the story that was akin to Cinderella, they could not give their children the wrong idea, could they?

**Author's Note: I had been heavily inspired by Phantom of the Opera (the best musical in the universe though Les Mis has quickly taken second place moving My Fair Lady down to third) last night when I had a movie night with my friend. We had promptly watched the first episode of Emma after this which cemented the idea and forced me to write this. I just had to write a naughty little oneshot and I hope you enjoyed reading this as I had writing it. **


End file.
